


Marriage-Gift

by smilebackwards



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6549205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilebackwards/pseuds/smilebackwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What the hell is this, Matt?” Foggy says, brandishing what Matt thinks is a sword.</p><p>(Or: Matt and Foggy accidentally get Asgardian married and Thor sends a gift.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marriage-Gift

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/7552.html?thread=15227520#cmt15227520) prompt/thread.

“What the hell is this, Matt?” Foggy says, brandishing what Matt thinks is a sword. 

It’s 6:34 in the morning. Matt had made his alarm clock read off the frankly painful numbers before he’d dragged himself out of the warm cocoon of his silk sheets to go answer the horrible pounding on the door. They hadn’t left Josie’s last night until past two.

“Come in,” Matt says hoarsely, tugging Foggy over the threshold and making a beeline toward the coffee maker. He sets it to percolate and then joins Foggy where he’s fetched up on the couch, slumped against the armrest.

“Seriously, Matt,” Foggy says, piteously. “It’s a sword.”

Matt reaches out. “Can I see it?”

Foggy hands it to him because he knows when Matt says _see,_ he means _touch._ “Careful,” he says, laying it sideways across Matt’s open palms. “It’s sharp.”

Matt, of course, immediately needs to test _how_ sharp. He runs his thumb along the blade. It bites into his skin so smoothly he almost doesn’t feel it. Very sharp then. 

“ _Matt_ ,” Foggy groans. He gets up to go rummage in the kitchen cupboard for the band-aids while Matt weighs the sword in his hands. It’s heavy and well-balanced but too long to be used by anyone who stands less than six feet tall. It feels more symbolic, ceremonial. Matt has laid it on the coffee table and is tracing the runes on the flat of the blade with his fingertips when Foggy comes back with a band-aid and a cup of hot coffee.

“Hands,” Foggy says. He puts the coffee in Matt’s left hand and takes his right hand between his own, turning it so he can stick the bandage over the cut on Matt’s thumb. “So this was on my kitchen counter when I woke up this morning,” Foggy says. “It might have been cool if there was a cup of coffee, the paper, maybe a nice glazed donut, but a _sword_ , what the hell?”

Foggy releases Matt’s hand and Matt immediately misses the warmth of his palms. “There was a note too,” Foggy adds, pulling something that crackles and smells more like old parchment than cardstock or cheap printer paper from his pocket. “It just says ‘Felicitations on your marriage to Matthew!’ I swear we weren’t that drunk last night, Matt.”

Matt feels his heart jolt painfully in his chest. He puts down his coffee and runs his fingers back over the blade. He hasn’t had much call for learning Norse runes, but Matt touched Thor’s hammer, Mjölnir, once. The Avengers made a game of it, trying to lift the hammer when Thor left it lying around the Tower. Matt had been there, after a fight with HYDRA that had spilled over into Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Come on!” Tony had said, as he tried to tug Mjölnir from its resting place on the most comfortable chair in the lounge area. “I built an arc reactor that’s providing clean energy to half of New York and took down like twenty bad guys today and I’m _still_ not worthy?” He’d looked up at Matt. “Murdock, you want to give this a shot?”

Matt shook his head because he was hard pressed to think of anyone _less_ worthy and he didn’t need to have it confirmed by a mystical hammer, but he’d touched it, curious. There were sharp-edged runes carved into the metal, similar to the ones he can feel on the sword.

Felicitations, the note said.

“I think we need to go talk to Thor,” Matt says.

-

Steve and Natasha are sitting at the breakfast bar eating eggs when they arrive at Avengers Tower and Foggy makes a strangled noise of glee.

“Good morning,” Steve says. “You guys want some breakfast?”

Matt’s about to say no when Foggy unsubtly grabs his fingers where they’re tucked into Foggy’s elbow. “Sure,” Matt says. “This is my friend Foggy. Foggy, this is Steve and Natasha.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says. “You like scrambled or over easy?”

“Foggy likes scrambled with salt and pepper,” Matt says because Foggy’s throat is making a high-pitched humming noise and he seems incapable of speech. He once talked to Matt for three solid hours about how Captain America was his hero, and that was before he broke out his collection of comic books and action figures. “I need to go talk to Thor,” Matt adds. He can hear Thor’s booming laugh down a floor in the lounge, a squeaky-voiced cartoon playing in the background. Matt gently pries Foggy’s fingers from his own and gives him a nudge forward before heading to the elevator.

“Matthew!” Thor greets him heartily when Matt enters the lounge. “Did you receive my marriage-gift? My father granted it to me from Asgard’s own armory when I told him of your mighty deeds.”

“Yes, thank you,” Matt says, politely, because it was a kind gift. He’s never known Thor to do anything that wasn’t well-meant. “Foggy and I just need to talk to you about the marriage. Could you come upstairs for a few minutes?”

“Certainly,” Thor says, turning off the television. Matt belatedly realizes that this is probably not a conversation he wants to have in front of Steve and Natasha, but it’s not like he could deny Foggy the chance to talk to his childhood idol. 

And he is finally talking when Matt and Thor get back to the kitchen. Unfortunately, what he’s talking about is Matt. “So then Matt says ‘That is _unconstitutional._ ’ Absolutely _scathing._ You’ve probably never heard Matt be scathing, but let me tell you, it’s--”

“Foggy, not the mock trial story,” Matt groans.

“Matt,” Foggy says seriously, “this is your best story.” When he sees Thor though, he goes truly serious. “And I will finish it another time. Hi, Thor.”

“Foggy,” Thor beams back. “Matthew tells me you have questions about your marriage.”

“Steve,” Natasha says, “let’s go spar.” Her chair scrapes away from the table.

“Right after breakfast?” Steve asks. Matt can almost feel the look Natasha gives him in the sudden beat of silence. “I mean, yes, definitely,” Steve amends. “Bye, Matt. Nice to meet you, Foggy.”

“Bye! Nice to meet you too!” Foggy calls after them. He clears his throat and turns to Thor. “So, marriage. How exactly did that happen?”

“You marked your commitment quite clearly last night,” Thor says quizzically.

Last night, Matt thinks. He’d been at Avengers Tower again because part of making up with Foggy over the whole Daredevil reveal blowout was making sure Matt had back up when necessary, and you couldn’t really get more heavy-hitting back up than the Avengers. Matt’s never been one to do things by halves.

Clint had invited Matt to a concert he and Natasha were going to. “Thanks, but I have plans,” Matt said. “Drinks with Foggy.”

Thor had perked up immediately at the mention of drinks. “Libations?” he said, obviously angling for an invite.

Matt had wanted Foggy to himself but he’d also wanted to show Foggy that he was taking the safety precautions Foggy had practically begged him for—the new suit, the extra medical contacts, the back up—seriously, and Thor was good company. The entire bar had practically frozen when he ducked into Josie’s behind Matt but he'd been subsumed into the regular clientele almost immediately. 

Matt had drunk a lot more Jameson’s than he usually let himself because he was bittersweetly happy and Foggy was there, smelling like old ink and raspberry jam and all the things Matt wanted but wasn’t going to ask for because he didn’t deserve them and never had. Matt felt spinny when Foggy had wrapped an arm around him and said, gently, “Hey, Matty, I think you’re ready to go home.”

 _I am home,_ Matt didn’t say, from the circle of Foggy’s arm, because he’d had that much control left at least.

When Foggy was putting him in a cab, Matt had felt his hands reach out almost against his will. He’d cupped Foggy’s cheeks, warm and flushed from alcohol, and leaned forward to kiss his forehead like a benediction. “Goodnight, Foggy,” Matt had said, his most sappy, uncontrollable smile on his face.

Foggy’s heart had been jackrabbiting fast, but there wasn’t anything to lie about when he said, “Goodnight, buddy,” and closed the door gently behind Matt. 

Matt had concentrated so hard on listening to Foggy’s heart for as long as he could that he’d hardly heard the crack of thunder that was the usual indication of Thor departing. 

“We went out for drinks last night,” Foggy prompts.

“Yes,” Thor says happily. “You served each other food and drink and at the end of the revelry, you offered Matthew a gesture of protection and he returned it with a gesture of affection. And, of course, Matthew has spoken often of the many seasons you shared a dwelling, far more than the requisite number before a marriage, and the many victories and defeats you have weathered together.” Thor smiles benevolently. “A fine, strong foundation indeed.” 

Matt feels his eyes sting and forces it back. A strong foundation for a friendship, perhaps, but Matt knows he’s lucky to have even that much.

Foggy takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay, right,” he says. “So how would we go about getting an Asgardian divorce, or an annulment?”

“A divorce?” Thor says, confused. “There are two ways. The first is most perilous to the body. Since the union is meant to be released only upon death, you must journey to _Éljúðnir,_ the palace of the goddess Hel, who rules the dead, and request dispensation. To reach her, you must climb the high gates and pass her servants, Ganglot and Ganglati, and the pitfall of her threshold _Fallandaforad._ ” He imparts the information as if it’s a scholarly question and not the painful we-need-to-get-out-of-this it truly is.

“What’s the second option?” Foggy asks, faintly.

“The second way is most perilous to the heart,” Thor says. “You must disavow your love for one another and cut the binding ribbon entwined round your wrists.”

Foggy clears his throat. “I think we’ll take door number two, right, Matt?” 

“Right,” Matt says numbly. “Yes.” 

“I will retrieve the necessary ceremonial implements if this is truly what you desire,” Thor says sadly. “Will you not seek arbitration? My mother would speak with you on matters of the heart.”

“No,” Matt says, quickly. He thinks anyone, much less Frigga, whom Thor has described as ‘wise and compassionate in all things,’ would look right through him and see the truth, that Matt’s never wanted anything more than to be bound to Foggy in every possible way, but that he takes enough as things are. “Bring the ribbon please.”

-

“Well,” Foggy says, as they make the trek back to Hell’s Kitchen. “Mystery solved.”

“Mystery solved,” Matt repeats, dully.

Foggy walks him all the way to his door, even though Foggy’s apartment is closer. Matt wants to return the gesture with one of affection but that’s apparently how he got them into this in the first place. He's not sure how they're going to avoid getting remarried pretty much immediately after the divorce. If protection, affection, and a standard length of cohabitation are all that's required, they've probably been married for years already by Asgardian definition.

Matt lies in bed and listens to the city, trying to pick out people in trouble that he could help, a reason to put on the suit and think about something, anything else. He can’t hear anything over the sound of his own harsh, wet breathing.

Here, finally, is the solution, Matt thinks bitterly. He can’t hear all the screaming, crying people of Hell’s Kitchen because now he’s one of them.

Matt presses his face harder into the pillow, but it’s a long time before he falls asleep.

-

Thor is mercifully quick about retrieving what’s needed for an Asgardian divorce. Matt doesn’t know how long he could have taken the knowledge that he might be able to call Foggy his husband.

They take a cab to Avengers Tower, Thor’s gifted sword concealed in a old guitar case Foggy dug up from his musical phase. Matt remembers him cycling through half a dozen instruments in their freshman year. The violin had lasted the approximately two seconds Matt had been able to keep the horror off his face. Foggy had been passable at the clarinet.

“My friends,” Thor greets them, with more solemnity than Matt’s ever heard from him. He leads them to one of the balconies on the tenth floor. Matt can feel the afternoon sun at his back, but his whole body wracks with a shiver when Thor tells them to clasp hands so the ritual binding may be broken.

Matt reaches out his left hand and Foggy meets him halfway, his grip unbearably gentle. Thor loops a ribbon twice around each of their wrists, leaving a swoop of fabric between them. It feels like sandpaper against Matt’s skin. 

“It’s beautiful,” Foggy says, his voice oddly hollow. 

“Are you going to cut it?” Matt asks Thor.

“No,” Thor says. “None but those bonded together may cut that bond asunder.” He guides Matt’s right hand to a knife resting on a wooden table. Matt can feel runes on the handle: a sharp-edged hourglass, inverted v’s. “First speak the words to renounce your love.”

“I’ll go first,” Matt says, rushed, because he’ll do anything to hold off the moment when he has to hear the words from Foggy and know by his heartbeat he’s telling the truth, that he doesn’t love Matt anymore, and certainly not like this. Matt can get back up from practically anything, but when it comes to Foggy, he’s always had a glass jaw.

He picks up the ceremonial knife. It feels heavy in his hand. Matt can tell by the subtle warmth of it that it’s probably gold and he wishes that it were silver or steel so he didn’t know so clearly that the cold he feels is his own hands, his own heart.

Matt sincerely tries not to cry. Foggy’s told him he has an extremely pitiful cry-face. To the point where it can induce crying in others. Mainly Foggy. Matt’s face is wet. He can hear Foggy’s breathing go ragged in sympathy. 

“I - I don’t--,” Matt says, each word pulled from his throat like a shard of glass. _Love, Murdock,_ he thinks. _Say it. I don’t_ love _you._ “I don’t--” 

He can’t. 

Matt puts down the knife and gently unwraps the ribbon binding their wrists. He turns to Thor and asks, hoarse, “How do I get to _Éljúðnir?_ ”

“Matt, c’mon,” Foggy says, wetly, “You’re not going to Hel.”

“I am,” Matt protests. “I have to. You don’t want--”

“ _I_ don’t want,” Foggy says, incredulous. “Let me clear something up here before you default to your plan of reckless self-endangerment. I love you. I have wanted to marry you since practically the second you walked into my life.”

“You can’t mean that,” Matt says, even though Foggy’s heartbeat is steady as a metronome for all that it’s turned up to over a hundred beats per minute.

“Why not?” Foggy asks simply. “Why can’t I?”

Matt can think of a thousand reasons, but it all boils down to one thing. “Because I’m not _good_ like you are, Foggy,” Matt says, anguished. It feels ripped out of him. Matt helps people, but he hurts them too. It’s a negative balance and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to so much as break even.

“Oh, Matt,” Foggy sighs. “You’re the best person I know. Protection, affection, _love_? I’d have offered you all I had of that years ago if I’d thought for one second you wanted it.”

“I do,” Matt says. “I want it.” He’s worn out from wanting it.

“Then goddamn Asgard-marry me, Murdock,” Foggy says. "Or vow renewal. Whatever." He picks up the ribbon from where Matt let it flutter to the ground and wraps it tightly around both their wrists. Matt’s not sure it’s the original ribbon. It feels like silk.

“May your marriage be blessed,” Thor says, sounding almost as pleased as Matt feels when Matt surges forward to meet Foggy in a kiss.

  
  



End file.
